I'm halfway through reading about Jay Gatsby when the librarian comes over and taps my shoulder politely. It startles me a bit; I drop the book and lose my place. I turn behind me and she whispers silently in my ear.
"Office wants to see you. They say it's important."
Hmm. Confused.
"Did they say what it was about?"
"No," she says. She smells like a hybridized stench of Chanel no. 5 and whiskey--the latter probably taken in on one of her impromptu trips to the teacher's lounge during third period.
I stand and glance at my books. I can always come back for them.
"Thanks," I say perfunctorily and walk out of the library. She returns to the checkout desk and the thoroughly-worn leatherbound sitting by the book drop.
Nice lady.
I reach the office a minute later. The secretary, Ms. Penny, smiles and takes me to a conference room around the corner. It's empty, except for chairs arranged around an oblong table, with a single landline telephone in the center. The whole room has a burgundy...blood-red kinda deal going on.
I always liked the color red. Color of blood.
"She's on line two, sweetie," Penny says and leaves.
So I find a seat and pick up the receiver and press the grey "2" button. Lift it to my ear and get out half of a hello.
"Tyler? Is this Tyler?" The voice sounds testy. Angry.
"Uhm, yeah, who's--'
"This is Sarah," she says, sounding very snotty.
"Oh." I roll my eyes. "What are we hunting for now, darling?"
"I'm calling from Derek's house."
"Shouldn't you be at school?" I don't even really care at this point. Its really a waste of my time at this point. And she's trying too hard to desperately keep me in her life. So this is little more than a game for me now. And she's about to tell me something I'm about to zone out to.
Why the hell would she call the school and ask for me? Why not just show up and talk. "I'm taking a personal day," she says, inadvertently answering my question. "No, Sarah, you're lying to yourself. Again."
"Speak for yourself, Ty. I'm actually doing what I want for a change. I just wanted to let you know that I'm at Derek's house."
"Good for you." I pick a quarter out of my pocket and start flipping it. Probability testing.
"We're having sex."
"It must be rough, doing that and talking to me at the same time. Unless that gets Derek off." I amplify my voice and enunciate into the receiver: "hi Derek! How's that groin injury?"
She huffs very loudly into the receiver. "I wanted to let you know that I've gotten over you."
The quarter lands on heads. "No you haven't."
"What did you just say?"
"I said. Sarah. You're not over me." I take my time, getting every word out clearly. It's me patronizing and/or annoying her. "And who knows if you ever will be." "You bastard!" she yells into the phone. "You Goddamn bastard! You owe me everything! I was your fucking first time, you ungrateful piece of shit!"
"What's that supposed to mean to me, Sarah?" I ask it stupidly, because I know what the hell it means.
"It means you're goddamn straight, Tyler. You're not gay; you didn't start out sucking dicks. You're straight, you like girls. You love me."
"Sure," I sigh. "And you're not a whore for fucking Derek in any way, are you?" She scoffs. I smile thinly. She's using him--of course she is--to prove how `over me' she is.
Stupid girl.
"Shut up, Tyler." I do. "Now," she says. "Do you love me or not?"
"Used to."
"Used to?"
"Oh yeah. Remember Homecoming, Sarah? After the dance, we went back to your place, got undressed and, eh, if I remember correctly, I had my way with you. We sixty-nined, I ate you out until we were both sweaty and quivering masses on the floor. Tell me: other than that, did we do anything extravagantly kinky? No Cleveland steamers I hope."
Part of that was true. It was damn good sex--and we were only 17 at the time--that was part of the reason I'd dated her to begin with. But after that, I'm simply patronizing her. Why? Because it's over. I just wish she'd realize that...
"You asked me to cut your chest and spread the blood around while you were fucking me, Tyler."
"And bent you over the kitchen table," I say with pride. "My point is: I did love you. But I think I'm past that."
"You think?"
"Oh yes. Beyond simply fucking for fucking's sake."
"So a guy--you, the star quarterback and all that crap--who fucks his girlfriend five times in one night--suddenly turns gay and it's not a big deal. Is that what you're saying." She's calming down. Not so angry anymore.
"No," I say, playing innocent. "I'm just calling it like it is. You know, there's more to it now than just me having sex with John. More than slipping away after school for a quick blowjob."
"I could have given you all that, y'know." Now she sounds deathly serious. "If you'd asked."
"I didn't think it was my place to ask, Sarah. I didn't think I should have to ask `hey Sarah, suck me off or no movie tonight.' It's an ultimatum, and I didn't want to give you one. Not then anyway."
"No."
"No," I say. "Because you gave me one last week. Gay or straight, if memory serves. Pussy or cock? Because I've had both. And sucking his cock's a lot more satisfying than eating you out ever was. I'll even forgive your fake climaxes and the, ah, subsequent locking down on my dick."
"So then you're bi."
"Please," I say and frown, unseen to her. "That's indecision."
"Then what the hell Tyler! You're just switching teams like some damn free agent. Dick, boobs, dick, boobs. What is it!?"
"It's what I want, Sarah." And now I'm the deathly serious one. "Maybe it's time to ask what you want."
"Don't turn this around on me, Tyler. Don't fuckin do that."
"I'm just saying, look at yourself, Sarah. Before you start pointing the finger just because you think someone fucked you over."
Silence. "I think there's only one of us getting fucked over now, Ty."
That does it. My eyes narrow and a little fire explodes inside me. I hold the receiver close and rasp into it like a pissed asthmatic.
"Listen, you fucking slut. You broke up with me. Okay? Not the other way around. So get used to that, get the fuck out of my life and stay the fuck away from John. Or I'll make your life shit. Absolute shit, do you hear me? Keep this shit up and I'll ruin you. I swear. One way or another." "Tyler, you sonofabitch, if you hang up on me--"
Click.
Too late.
John stays at my house that night. We play some shirts v/ skins football out back--he skins and me shirts--and end up dirty as fuck, thank you very much floodplain-for-a-backyard. We strip off on the deck and walk through the house naked to the shower. We save water and time and a few other things by showering together. In the middle of a blowjob under the steam and water, John gets up and grabs a razor and a can of Nivea from the caddy.
"What's up?" I ask.
"The hair," he says. "How'd you feel about losing it?"
I smile, and he works some shaving cream into lather. Starts shaving.
"Don't worry," he says, stroking the inside of my thigh. "I'll be gentle."
"Ok, but if I bleed out and die, you're the first one I'm haunting."
He smiles back and kisses the tip of my cock--`Caligula' as he's taken to calling it--and rubs the cream around.
When it's done, he finishes blowing me and fingering my ass. We dry off; he gets dressed and kisses me goodnight and goes home. It's a productive night.
Life goes on. Wonderfully.